9/7/04

Normally I don’t believe in diaries, but as you can see, this is an exception. I decided that my life is way too surreal right now, and if I don’t write things down, then I won’t believe myself when I look back on my life five years from now. Then I’ll convince myself that I’m insane, and life would really be ridiculous.

That, and I’m bored. So, my darling little paper bound together to form a book, I shall entrust you with my deepest, darkest secrets. Or rather, the walking cliché that is my life.

Morgan sighed and looked up from the small notebook. She turned her gaze toward the bus window, but catching sight of her reflection in the glass, she grimaced and quickly turned back to her writing.

Let’s face it, there are a lot of clichés out there. I mean, it’s not to say that they can’t happen and be absolutely true (hell, look at me) but they just seem OFF somehow. Y’know? And for me, it’s just one cliché after another. For your convenience (and my morbid entertainment…I really need a new hobby) we’ll start with the least shocking or cliché or whatever of my life of cliché.

I am madly in love with my childhood best friend. Mind you, I haven’t seen him in years; he kinda moved away halfway through seventh grade. But I still talk to him online and on the phone and all, and we send each other pictures now and then. (Can I just take this moment to say that he has gotten pretty darn hot? Whew. His hair’s really dark, like that “I’m not black but I look it and you can’t really tell that I’m brown” kind of dark…and it’s gotten long enough that he can put it in a ponytail. Call me crazy, but I’ve always been a sucker for long hair. And he just pulls it off so well somehow! In most of the pictures, it’s not in a ponytail, but still…he looks sooo hot. Ugh. I hate saying that about him. I mean, he’s my friend! Ew! (Yeah, whatever, Morgan. He’s hot and you know it.) And now I’ve reverted to talking to myself, and going double parentheses. Ugh.) (He’s got hazel eyes, by the way…he’s gorgeous.) Moving on…

For even more cliché, try this: I am engaged to marry a man I don’t even know. Isn’t it great? Arranged marriages. Thought they went out with the Stone Ages…um, no. Ugh. Anyway, you wanna know who I blame for my current predicament? King George III.

Seriously! I’ve got it all figured out. See, my parents are delusional. They seem to think they live in the seventeenth century. (Or was that the eighteenth? Or sixteenth? I have no idea…) Anyway, they’re all about courtliness and balls and whatnot…they’re all about so much stuff I can’t even keep track of it. I can’t make any sense of them, ever. But they’re alright in their funny sort of way. And anyway, I figure that if old King George hadn’t started that stupid revolution, the colonial ages would not have happened, and my parents would not think they were still happening. (Okay, so it’s flawed reasoning, I know. But hey, it amused me while I made it up. And it impressed some of the dumber kids at school when I told them.) But yeah. Colonial thinking. It’s actually amusing a lot of the time…

That’s why they named me Morgan, incidentally. I was supposed to be a boy, and Morgan was a boy’s name back then. So they thought it’d be cool, even though I’d have been tortured mercilessly. But then I was a girl. For some reason, they decided to keep the name. Hey, that’s cool with me. I like my name. Morgan Winters. Got a nice ring to it, eh? Just don’t ask my middle name. Or I’ll kill you.

So anyway, I’m in love with my best friend, but I’m engaged to a complete stranger. I’m seventeen now. My parents are determined to marry me off straight out of high school. That means only one more year! I’m a senior! Only one year of freedom! Argh!

I’m working on convincing them to let me finish college first (not that I particularly want to go to college, you understand…I’m not big on that whole scholastic thing. Despite being brilliant. How I hate myself sometimes…) I don’t know if they’ll go for it, though. They insist that females don’t need any more education. Ha! (Okay, so I like that theory. Still…) I’m considering flunking senior year a few times to put off the torture…except that I’m so damned competitive. Ugh, again. Once again, I hate myself.

Oh, and hey! Did I mention the biggest cliché of all? I’m headed off to a guys’ boarding school!

Hey, guys! By popular request, I’m putting this back up… if y’all could leave some reviews now and then, I’d appreciate it… my stories feel so lonely without reviews. Still looking for feedback, too… obviously the overall story won’t change, but I can still iron out details. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!